


Blood Craving

by Aerilon452



Category: Ravenous (1999)
Genre: A/U, Blood Drinking, Death, M/M, Murder, cannibals, human bbq
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:08:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28754892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerilon452/pseuds/Aerilon452
Summary: Ives taunts Boyd with the blood welling up in his palm.... and things take a different turn.
Relationships: John Boyd/Ives
Kudos: 11





	Blood Craving

**Author's Note:**

> I always loved the scene in the movie where Boyd cuts Ives's hand and Ives turns right around and taunts him with it. So, I thought, 'What if Boyd gave in?'

The scent of blood filled the air. Boyd swallowed hard as the sweet smell filled his nostrils, making his mouth salivate, and his stomach growl in primal hunger. Ives was taunting him, trying to break him down, make him malleable. He was past the point of caring. John was starving and only one thing would sate his ravenous hunger. Dropping his knife, he gripped the bloody hand, yanking the other man towards him.

Boyd sealed his lips over the wound, sucking loudly at the intoxicating, life affirming blood. He ran his tongue over the small but deep cut as if meaning to drain the overbearing dominant man dry. With each drop that slid down his parched throat, his worry, his fear faded much as it had when he’d been buried under all those bodies.

Ives grimaced initially. The first sharp sting of his laceration being probed by Boyd’s tongue was uncomfortable. Now, it was rather arousing. Slowly, so he wouldn’t startle his potential paramour, he slipped his right hand over Boyd’s waist, stopping at the small of his back. A few more seconds of this and they would have to part. Bringing his hand up to cup the back of Boyd’s head, Ives whispered, “That’s enough. We don’t want to get caught out here like this.”

The logic of what Ives had said seeped into Boyd’s blood addled brain. Drunkenly, he pulled back, not bothering to wipe the crimson from his bearded lips. A flash of memory flit through his min. Ives – blood on his lips. Desire raced through him suddenly. He wanted to kiss those same lips right now. Giving in, he pressed a desperate kiss to Ives’s lips, moaning an entreaty into his mouth.

Ives smirked, giving Boyd what he wanted. Opening up, he allowed himself to be ravished by this starving man. Part of his brain remained vigilant, watching, waiting for the first sound of another person to come searching for them. The primal part of him that wanted this man indulged fully. It was a duel of desires, fueled by dark hungers. Off in the distance, the sound of a door opening caught his attention. Instantly he pulled back and looked into Boyd’s glassy eyes. The footsteps grew closer – light and cautious. ‘Martha,’ he surmised.

Some of the high wore off, letting Boyd think. Then, his ears perked up, catching the sound of someone coming. There was a moment where he wanted to run away, to put distance between what he had just done with Ives, and the other part wanted to continue to see where this would lead. More blood. More death. A cowardly voice rose up, whispering words of warning. Boyd ignored them. In the span of a few precious seconds, his mind was made up. Ives must have read it on his face. The Colonel took his hand, leading him to the room that used to belong to Col. Hart.

Once behind a closed and bolted door, passions roared to life as hot as the flames in the fireplace. Ives took charge, dominating Boyd. He pushed him down, sinking his teeth into shoulder, tasting blood and resisting the urge to rip a chunk of meat from his bedmate. Ives took Boyd over and over, all through the night.

**MORNING:**

Ives sat in a chair near the fireplace. The heat licked across his chest while his attention was on the Boyd, who was still asleep. His back was exposed, full of scratches and little bites from their exertions. The blankets were bunched down around his hips, making Ives lick his lips in eager anticipation. He had always had peculiar tastes long before he’d killed and ate his first human. That, in and of itself, hadn’t been much of a personal debate with himself. He was dying, had the worst thoughts that made suicide look like a good idea. Then, the scout had told him the story and it sparked his curiosity enough to try it. The first kill, the first taste of the flesh had opened a new world to him. It was a world he wanted to share with Boyd. First, his potential partner had to be broken of his fear.

Boyd fought off the consciousness that was trying to force his entire being to wake up. He wanted to savor this languid feeling for as long as he could. A groan escaped him as he rolled over. There was a stinging along the flesh of his back and events of last night rushed back to him. He and Ives had been in this bed, together. They had feasted on each other’s bodies until sunrise. Opening his eyes, he sought out the Colonel, finding him by the roaring fire wearing only a pair of trousers and a delighted smirk. His right arm was propped up on the armrest while his thumb and index finger fiddled with the rosary wrapped around his wrist. Boyd thought he would be in a deep pit of self-loathing the moment he remembered all of what happened last night. Instead, he stretched, deliberately groaning loudly.

Compelled out of the chair, Ives went to stand beside the bed. He was enticed by the gratuitous display Boyd was putting on for him. Without saying anything, he kneeled on the edge of the mattress, straddling Boyd’s waist. He lightly ran the tips of his fingers over the unmarred flesh of his abdomen, making him shudder. Ives had to be careful not to arouse too much passion. They each had a part to play in this little drama. “We should go in search of breakfast…” he mused.

Boyd – feeling playful – surprised Ives by rolling him beneath his body, fitting himself between the other man’s thighs. “I’m comfortable here,” he replied, shifting suggestively.

“I can tell,” Ives replied with a smirk and a wink. He reached around, gripping Boyd’s backside, giving him a good squeeze. This euphoria wouldn’t last, and Ives had to move fast if he wanted to keep Boyd content and languid. By now, Martha would have gone to San Miguel to get the General. There wasn’t much time to subdue Major Knox.

“Stop thinking,” Boyd growled before he leaned down and nipped the side of Ives’s neck. Already, that hunger had started to grumble in the pit of his stomach. He was trying to put it off for a few more hours.

“The General will be here soon,” Ives reminded. During rest periods last night, he had talked about his plans, and Boyd seemed to agree with them. However, he had still seen the flash of fear in his eyes. “We have to take care of Knox before too long,” he said.

“And Cleaves?” Boyd asked. His feelings about the man were neither here nor there. Though, to be honest, he was none too fond of him at the moment after he’d been accused of killing everyone.

“We’ll handle it,” Ives promised. “Let’s eat,” he said wickedly.

**AFTERNOON:**

By lunch, Cleaves had been turned into a stew while Knox was under a bourbon sleep. Boyd ate his fill, keeping the euphoric high going. The shame he felt over letting his regiment die while fighting in Mexico was fading into a distant memory. There wasn’t even a glimmer of guilt over eating Reich. He didn’t want to fight Ives – it was too exhausting and frankly, he didn’t have the stamina for it. If he had tried, it would have only ended in their death. That was the only way to stop a Wendigo.

Boyd was sitting by the common room fireplace, watching the flames when a glass of red – he was going to assume – wine appeared in front of his face. Accepting it, he asked, “What’s this?”

“I finally figured out what you crave more than anything,” Ives said, dropping down next to Boyd on the couch. Simply sitting by the man was invigorating. He didn’t understand it. Up until meeting Boyd, he’d thought of nothing but sating his hunger, keeping his death at bay. John Boyd – as much as he was a kindred spirit – was an enigma yet to be solved.

“And how did you come to that conclusion?” Boyd inquired, taking a sip of what incorrectly assumed was wine. It was blood and it had come from Cleaves. He could smell the multitude of medicinals the man liked to use, taste them on his tongue as he swallowed.

Ives chuckled darkly, holding up his left hand, wiggling his fingers. The palm had been slit open last night and healed by morning. “You crave blood more than flesh,” he answered, setting his hand on Boyd’s right knee. The man didn’t so much as flinch. Ives smiled when Boyd shifted, putting himself a little closer to his side, having their thighs touching.

“It’s how I was made,” Boyd responded lightly before taking another deep savoring drink. The blood went down easier than the chunks of human meat he had eaten earlier.

Ives leaned forward, giving Boyd a questioning glance.

Boyd had opened his mouth to respond, when the doors opened, and a hungover Knox stumbled in. Propriety had him putting space between him and Ives. Even drunk, Knox had eyes in his skull. They couldn’t give themselves away.

“Major Knox,” Ives greeted convivially. “Perhaps I could interest you in some afternoon stew?” he offered, winking at Boyd.

Knox grumbled something unintelligible, stumbling over to where a loaf of bread sat. He broke off a chunk, nibbling away at it.

Ives and Boyd shared a look. The other man would be dead soon enough.

**NIGHT:**

Boyd hadn’t even thought about going back to his dark little hole of a room. In the span of one night, he’d grown accustomed to the bed in the Colonel’s room and of the roaring fireplace filling the space with heat. He was lying on his stomach, his face turned towards the small window where the light of the moon was barely visible. Once more, his body was strong with the blood of others coursing through him. Rolling over, Boyd put himself on his side, staring at Ives, who was sitting up, reading a book. "You wanted to know how I became like this,” he said softly.

Ives set the book down in his blanket covered lap, looking down at his lover. “Only if you want to tell me,” he responded. Lightly, his brushed a lock of Boyd’s hair away from his forehead and then rubbed the back of his fingers across his brow. He spied the scar on Boyd’s chest, near the shoulder joint. It wasn’t from a bullet – or so he guessed.

“I took a bayonet to the chest saving my commanding officers life,” Boyd said lightly. Ives touched the scar then. “Later, I woke up in a hospital, everyone was amazed I had lived. Hell, I was astounded. I was certain I was going to die. Waking up, I felt something had changed. I felt fear sink into my bones. For a while I was able to hide it, until they sent me back to the front in Mexico.” This was the most he spoken to anyone in a long time.

“What happened?” Ives asked softly. He was tapping into the quiet compassion that had belonged to Colqhoun. Lately, he’d been acting more and more like the Colonel than he had his actual self. That man – though detestable as he was – had a strong spirit, a strong personality.

Boyd stared at one of Ives’s ribs as he said, “I froze…” It was the same response he’d given to Colonel Hart. Given the position he was in, he should at least expand on those two words. “All the shouting, the gun shots, the sound of men dying… I don’t know what came over me. I found myself laying down, pretending to be dead.” He took a moment, a rush of memories flooding through his mind. “They Mexican soldiers picked me up, dragging me over to a pile of dead bodies where they tossed me in with the rest. I remember having my commanding officer’s half shot off head in my face. It was his blood that filled my mouth. Afterwards, I remember I wasn’t afraid as I struggled to get out from under the pile.”

“What’d you do with all that strength?” Ives asked inquisitively. The first thing he had done after eating the Indian Scout had been to plan the death of the others in his wagon train. Fortunately for him Ives had made that extremely easy.

Boyd smirked for the first time as he answered, “I took the command post hostage.”

Ives laughed, closing his book, and setting it on the small bed side table. “Bet that went over well with the General.”

“It didn’t, but since several high-ranking soldiers saw me hold them hostage, I couldn’t exactly be shot for cowardice. Instead, I got promoted and sent here,” Boyd replied, motioning to the room, meaning the entirety of Fort Spencer. “Slauson hates me, and he would eagerly pin all of those murders on me.” He gave a sarcastic look to Ives, who didn’t bother to look guilty over it.

“I had to eat and heal all my bullet wounds,” Ives responded haughtily.

“Poor you…” Boyd responded and scoffed.

“Had you not jumped off that cliff, I would’ve shared,” Ives replied with a smirk.

“No, you wouldn’t. You would’ve eaten me too,” Boyd stated defiantly.

Ives gave him a mockingly shocked face. Then he asked, “Can you blame me? You’re positively delicious.” He laughed, thoroughly amused with himself.

Boyd hid his face against Ives’s chest and chuckled.

Ives stroked the back of Boyd’s head, letting his fingers run through the chestnut strands. He wasted so much time on trying to make Boyd look guilty for multiple murders. All he had to do was feed him a little blood and take him to bed to get what he wanted. If it wasn’t so laughable, he might just weep at the shear simplicity of it.

Boyd let his lips wander over the left side of Ives’s chest, noticing the way his heart beat faster after each little kiss. He was about to move further down, when Ives had him face down, and the fur blanket stripped away from his waist. A growl filled Boyd’s ears, he felt it against his back as it reverberated in Ives’s chest. He shifted a little, bringing his right knee up, ready to be penetrated by his dominant again. The first push had him grunting in pain as well as pleasure. He bit his bottom lip when the next thrust came. This time, his moan was that of pure pleasure.

Ives sank himself deeply into Boyd, relishing the tight hold. He reached around and gripped Boyd’s hard length to give him a generous stroke as best as he could. Giving himself over to the pleasure of the moment, he concentrated in thrusting and stroking his lover. Each thrust was harder than before and every moan from Boyd grew louder and louder. “Come for me, Boyd,” he growled, surging forward hard and fast. “Cover my hand.”

The words would have embarrassed Boyd if someone else had said them to him. But not Ives. The way the words rolled off his tongue were erotic. His body tensed, and in seconds his release came.

Ives felt the hot spurts against his palm as he came inside Boyd. They were panting minutes later, neither one too concerned about moving an inch. He was too content pressed tightly against Boyd’s body to be even contemplate moving. First his primal hunger had be sated and now his carnal craving had as well.

Boyd didn’t know how he managed it, but somehow, he blindly searched for the blanket to pull over the both of them. Their bodies were cooling and soon not even the heat from the hearth would keep them warm when they passed out. The last thing he felt were the light kisses he felt from Ives as he closed his eyes.

**MORNING:**

Ives was rested but he knew that the hole in the pit of his stomach would soon grumble with the need for food. He rubbed his cheek against Boyd’s bare shoulder, hoping to lull himself back into sleep. Sometime during the night, they had shifted, and his cock had slipped free of Boyd’s body. He was giving serious thought to using his morning erection to wake John up so they could have a little more pleasure before greeting the day. He was still deciding when the door to his room burst open. Startled – and he didn’t like that – Ives rolled over, seeing Knox in the doorway. “What’s the meaning of this Major?” he demanded.

Knox didn’t know what to expect when he busted in on Ives. The last thing he expected was to find Boyd with him – to find them both naked. “I’ll have quite the story to tell General Slauson when he gets here. I knew something wasn’t right with you,” Knox accused. He shut the door in case things took a turn.

Boyd had been rudely awakened by the resident Fort Spencer drunk. His anger at the situation flared to life. Reaching for the knife Ives had stashed on the floor, he bounded out of bed still naked, slicing the blade across Knox’s throat. Blood splattered his face and chest, sliding slowly down his torso all while a little bubble of satisfaction welled up inside him. Boyd sighed in exasperation, dropping the knife to the floor, taking a step back as Knox gurgled his last breath.

Ives was impressed. He thought he would have to at least try and convince Boyd to kill Knox. Again, he was surprised. Climbing out of bed, he stood behind Boyd, resting his chin on his left shoulder. He reached around, dragging the fingers of his right hand up through the blood, bringing them away when they were sufficiently coated. Stepping back, he brought his fingers up to his mouth and licked the blood clean. He could taste the bourbon and it made him shudder.

Boyd turned to watch Ives savor the blood. It was seductive. It made him hard. He cupped his paramours face, hauling him close, sealing his lips over Ives’s. This time, he was the aggressor. He wouldn’t beg. He would take. Boyd conquered Ives’s in this moment, pumping his tongue in and out of his mouth as expertly as he could while the euphoria rode him.

Ives liked what he was getting from Boyd – and Boyd had certainly taken to murder easily enough. Still, he would act with caution. His playmate needed to be brought around slowly. Giving into him right now was part of his ongoing seduction. He let Boyd ravish his mouth, let him think he was the one in charge.

Breaking the kiss, Boyd sucked in air. That was… He didn’t have the words to accurately describe what he was feeling. Was it power? It might be. He couldn’t tell. All there was for him was blood and Ives. Taking a liberty, he knew was his to take, he ran his hands down Ives’s chest, leaving little bloody trails as evidence of his touch.

Ives glanced at the body on the floor. “What should we do with him?” he asked conversationally. Looking at Boyd, silently scolding him with his gaze. If his bloody boy didn’t stop, he wasn’t going to be able to think for the rest of the morning. Currently, Boyd’s bloody hand was attending to his morning erection, giving it the sorely needed attention it was demanding.

“We could roast him on a spit and put all that internal basting to good use,” Boyd suggested as he sank down to his knees in front of Ives. While his attention was elsewhere, Boyd reached behind him, coating his hand in more of Knox’s blood. Bringing it up, he painted the hard cock, coloring it crimson. Then, greedily, he sucked the firm flesh into his mouth. The scent that was uniquely Ives filled his head, muddying his senses.

Ives opened his mouth and moaned. His eyes closed and his lower muscles clenched. Automatically, he threaded his fingers through Boyd’s hair, momentarily debating extracting his throbbing length from his tempting mouth. “Boyd…” he growled.

Boyd let the tantalizing erection pop free of his mouth. “I don’t think Knox will mind,” he whispered wickedly. Then, glancing over his shoulder, he asked, “You don’t mind, do you Major?” Rolling his gaze up, he dared Ives to stop him as he closed his lips over flushed head.

Ives, not one to deny himself, gave his full attention to Boyd and his hot mouth. His bloody partner went down on him, stayed for a second before pulling back slowly. He felt his release coming. Boyd’s fingers dug into his hips, holding him still. He wanted nothing more than to thrust wildly, until he was buried halfway down Boyd’s throat.

Boyd found his rhythm, going down fast and pulling back slowly. He could feel the tension running through Ives. A few more seconds – at best – and he would be undone. Sucking harder, he ran his nails over the swell of Ives’s backside, making the man shudder. He pulled back, nearly letting the hard shaft fall from his lips. Gazing up at Ives, he gave him what he wanted.

Ives buried himself all the way to the root inside Boyd’s mouth, triggering his orgasm. Spurt after spurt and Boyd swallowed it all, leaving him practically boneless. His knees were shaking, and his breathing was ragged. Yet, somehow, he found his way to the side of the bed to take a seat. Boyd was still on his knees, a devilish grin on his face as he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “Well, well, well… I’ve created a wanton little predator,” he muttered happily.

Boyd lazily licked his fingers clean, shrugging nonchalantly. The blood from Knox – though diluted with alcohol – perked him up considerably. “I’ll clean up and take care of the body while you get to work on the fire in the lodge.” Not giving Ives a single second to argue, he pressed a quick kiss to his lips and then went over to the basin to begin cleaning up.

Ives chuckled and got dressed.

**AFTERNOON:**

Boyd had gutted Knox, chopped off his arms, legs, and head, then mounted his torso on the crossbar iron over the fire pit in the lodge. He turned the torso every ten minutes, making sure both sides were cooked evenly. The bourbon Knox loved to imbibe hadn’t left him in the pink, but it would help to BBQ him easier. Body managed to scare up a few bottles from the Major’s room and used that to pour over the meat for a little extra flavor. Boyd turned the handle of the spit, salivating over the meal yet to come their way.

Outside, Ives busied himself by stripping every slice of meat from Knox’s extremities that he could. He was planning to make a stew out of the available onions, carrots, and potatoes that Cleaves had brought back from the trading post. The smell of the cooking meat was carried to him on the old breeze moving through the fort. His stomach growled, ready to eat again. Idly, he took a strip of Knox’s flesh, and bit a piece off as he gathered up the bloody bones, intent on tossing them in the fire in the forge.

Boyd carried a platter of roasted meat, heading out into the compound to search for Ives. After his dominant left him to clean up, he’d taken the liberty of shaving his beard off. His face felt better than it had in a long time and it helped to put the events of Mexico out of his mind. Plus, it would be easier to clean the blood off of his face. Ives appeared, stopping in his tracks. “Hungry?” Boyd asked wickedly. He picked off a piece of cooked flesh holding it out, taunting Ives to take it.

Ives squinted, taking in the sight of Boyd without a beard. It suited him more – so he thought. Stepping in close, he took the pre-offered meat from Boyd’s fingers with his mouth. Sliding back slowly, he let those two digits fall from between his lips as he started to chew the tender meat. The alcohol had burned off, but his heightened sense of taste could still pick it out. He moaned in pleasure. “You’re not just a pretty face after all,” he joked.

Boyd chewed a piece of meat idly. After swallowing he said, “I want you to let Martha go.”

“Why is that?” Ives asked, slightly taken aback. He was planning to kill her.

“She has nothing left here. Her brother is gone, and she can’t stop us herself,” Boyd stated rationally. “If she really wanted to kill one of us, she’d have to die as well. And seeing as she can’t die twice…”

Ives took a moment to think and another moment to consider the repercussions of letting the woman walk out of Fort Spencer alive. If it kept Boyd with him, then he was amenable enough to let the woman live. Soon enough they would have enough food to keep them sated. “All right, she can live.”

“While you’re keeping the General busy, I’ll kill Lindus,” Boyd stated and with a trace of glee. The snot-nosed attaché had it coming – following the General around like a little sycophant. At least, that was what he was telling himself to make the deed easier. When General Slauson arrived, he would confess to being out of his head with fever, that he hadn’t known what he was saying.

Ives was about to respond when the distant sound of horses reached his ears. “Let’s get cleaned up, and ready for our guests.” He took the meat from Knox to the communal dining area. Adding the chunks to the stew, he stirred it all together, and then left it to simmer. The portion of Knox that had been roasted was already cut up, on the table, and ready to be dined on. At the head of the table was where he planned to put General Slauson – prop him up, make him feel important. He put a glass of wine there, the air filled with the scent of fermented fruit, alcohol, some spices, smoke, and a hint of candied violets. The bottle had been stashed in a locker that had belonged to Colonel Hart.

Boyd had gone to his former quarters and looked at the uniform laid out on the bed. He thought about putting it on, but then decided against it. Instead, he put on a pair of black trousers, his boots, a white linen shirt, and a blue vest with matching jacket. To combat the chill in the air, he pulled on his long black coat. To suit his grooming needs, he ran his fingers through his tousled hair and decided that was enough. He looked at himself in the mirror, still getting used to the clean-shaven face. John Boyd looked and felt like a new man. He wasn’t stupid. This newfound awareness was because of Ives. The overbearing, dominant that he was. Boyd scoffed at his reflection, picked up what was left of his clothes and vacated the room.

******

Outside the ramshackle gates of Fort Spencer, General Slauson slowed the progress of his mount. He was in an ill-humor having been brought back to this place for another incident involving Captain Boyd. If he had followed his instincts, he would’ve already had the man shot for cowardice and been done with it. Yet, here he was, retuning to this troubling outpost.

Martha pulled on the reins of her horse. Something wasn’t right. She let the blond soldier ride ahead of her while she studied the gates, listening for any sign of life. When she hadn’t heard anything, a coldness went through her. This place had become one of death. Without hesitation, she turned her horse around and headed back to San Miguel.

Slauson approached the gate as it opened, riding on through when he spotted Ives. The man seemed to be in a good humor despite the situation that had brought him back. “Colonel Ives,” he greeted in a clipped, commanding tone.

“General, welcome back,” Ives responded. He took the reins after the General dismounted and handed them over to Lindus – who led the horses to the barn. Presumably, Boyd was lying in wait. Ives focused his attention on Slauson. “Lunch is ready and waiting for you, should want to dine before tackling the subject of Captain Boyd.”

“Once this matter is resolved, Colonel, I don’t want to be brought out here again,” Slauson ordered. He thrust the reins in his attaché’s hand, ordering the man to take the horses to the barn with a sharp look.

It took all Ives had not to slit the man’s throat right there and then. He reminded himself that he needed General Slauson if his dream of having a home was to become a reality. He and Boyd would have this place as their own, continue to use it as a way station for those American’s seeking a better life over the California mountains. He mouth practically watered thinking about the first life that he would take in the spring.

Boyd had concealed himself in the barn, listening to Ives and Slauson talk. He ground his teeth in annoyance over the clipped tone the General had used. The barn door groaned loudly on its hinges as Lindus appeared. Boyd waited, his muscles coiled, ready to pounce. He wouldn’t be dramatic like Ives – gutting his prey or stabbing them. No, he would do this quick and quietly. Once the other man had his back turned, Boyd struck. In a flash, he had snapped Lindus’s neck, leaving him dead at his feet. The horses hadn’t so much as nickered in alarm.

Boyd grabbed the dead man’s feet, dragging him over to a waiting rope that was tied around the beam. Looping it around the ankles, he yanked with all of his might, suspending the dead soldier in the air. When he had the body high enough, he tied off the roped. Then, he took a few minutes to study Lindus. If he hadn’t done it himself, he might think the man was unconscious. With a shrug, he stripped the body of its belt, sash, jacket, vest, and shirt. Then, using a knife, he slit the side of the neck deeply, draining all the blood into a basin. The rest could be taken care of tomorrow.

Blood filled the air, stirring Boyd’s hunger. Crouching down, he dipped the tips of his index and middle finger into the blood, and then lifted them to his lips. The taste danced on his tongue, lancing right through him. It was invigorating. He moaned in contentment and then left the barn. Boyd crossed the compound, heading for the livery, where he tossed the clothing he carried into the fire. He should have felt bad about ending a human life. As he stared into the flames that consumed the garments, he felt nothing. It didn’t frighten him like he thought it would.

Boyd went into the lodge where the communal space was just in time to see Ives standing over Slauson – who was face down on the ground. “What happened?” he asked, not know whether he should be disappointed or exasperated.

“I didn’t kill him,” Ives started off, “but he was getting on my nerves.” General Slauson had down two helpings of stew and even a generous amount of BBQ ala Knox.

Boyd shook his head and picked off a piece of meat from one of the rib bones. Popping it into his mouth, chewing, he asked, “What do we do with him now?”

“We chain him up and let him starve,” Ives answered. Then the real work would begin on breaking the man down until he came around to the way Ives wanted to live.

Boyd felt satisfaction in that statement.

**THE END.**

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this fic!


End file.
